


o my luve is like a red, red rose

by friendlybomber



Series: Ethelan Mahariel Sabrae [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Ethelan Mahariel Sabrae, F/M, extra-canon inquisition fic, fuck you game did you honestly think i wouldnt find a way for them to be together after canon, warden heavy because fuck you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlybomber/pseuds/friendlybomber
Summary: An exploration of the Warden after 10 years.





	o my luve is like a red, red rose

**Author's Note:**

> this is part of the growing Ethelan Mahariel Sabrae timeline. I have somewhere around 40 fics written about Ethelan and co. (check out No Loose Ends for some plot) and I really think it's time I started posting them. this is chronologically pretty late in my warden's story. more of an exercise in my comfort with posting writing than anything else.

Alistair keeps a mental list of all the ways Ethelan has changed over the years.

Her ever-bony cheeks no longer seem gaunt, but hollow. She wears her hair cropped short save for one coif swept to the side, nappy and grimy as ever. Her eyes are distant and dull and do not shine with mirth or mischief anymore. Her skin is tighter, tougher, accustomed to the elements just as his is accustomed to luxury now. The corners of her thin lips are ever-downturned. Her arms are well-muscled, but she covers them always in a course and thick brown poncho – all to hide the white scars that criss-cross over a warrior-archer’s strength.

She is ever-focused now. When they met, she was always distracted by the joys of life; in the subsequent years, she struggled to keep herself tethered to the reality that moved around her. Now her mind is constant, vigilant, always seeking ahead. Her jokes have an edge to them, playful and teasing humor hardened into weary sarcasm. She feels the pads of her fingers and takes sharp breaths; then there are no more darkspawn popping up from the ground like daisies. She hardly sleeps anymore. She must always be moving nowadays. She carries a drink with her in a skin on her hip wherever she goes, but she only touches it when she has to speak to someone. She counts the seconds between her inhale and exhale.

There are new lines etched into her face. One of her feet is slightly twisted around the left-most toes. Her breaths are rakey. Her hair is thinner, but no less untamable. Her eyebrows share custody of her forehead with an ever-present notch. Her voice is lower. Her steps don’t dance like they used to.

He also keeps a mental list of the ways she is the same.

Same dark circles under her eyes that she is not ashamed of. Same unruly hair the color of honey. Same smile, all apples of her cheeks, when it appears. Same light, fitful sleep. Same coarse, confident hands. Same square jaw, same straight nose. Same strong legs. Same dirty fingernails.

She still picks flowers and weaves them into crowns. She still sings to herself as she walks. She still tames any creature that flitters in her general direction. She still finds families in eclectic miscreants by spotting their true potential. She still leaps to help strangers at a moment’s notice. She still wears soft pink blush and dull pink lipstick. She still runs her hands over smooth surfaces. She still searches for an even better bow. She still picks every stalk of elfroot she comes across. She still laughs like a bell. She still wears her locket. She still watches the stars.

And she still tugs his ear. She still seeks out his hand as they walk side by side. She still makes a face when she wants to be kissed, and she still places her hand on the back of his neck. She still guides him along in intimacy. She still curls facing into him as she sleeps. She still teases him and goads him on. She still tells him she loves him. She still only relaxes truly around him. She still belongs by his side but slightly ahead, a country and a road at their feet.

And she still forgives him. Even when he breaks her heart. And she still reminds him that he owes her a wedding.

She’s still going to get one.

She’s still Ethelan, despite it all. Still kind-hearted and altruistic, horrible with money, stubborn with failure, free to the wind, and unwavering in uncertainty.

And she still carries around a crumbly, velvety rose no matter where she goes. And she still always finds her way back to him. And she still maintains that she never left.


End file.
